


Feeding Frodo

by vissy



Category: Lord of the Rings (Novel)
Genre: Drabble, Drabble Sequence, Gen, Post-Quest, Pre-Quest, Quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-06-20
Updated: 2003-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 03:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vissy/pseuds/vissy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten drabbles about a hobbit's empty belly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeding Frodo

_S.R. 1368_

She couldn't bear it sometimes - the wet snuffling, the pulling, the _greed_. She tried not to show her repulsion, but her skin would start to creep and a howl of defiance would bubble up in her throat. When she felt it coming on, she would place him gently in his cradle and run out into the rain, lest she dash him against the wall. But his thin, hungry wail would reach out for her, and she would raise her eyes to the sky and wonder if he would ever be satisfied.

Folk always called her Prim, and maybe she was.

_S.R. 1373_

He watched Frodo separate everything on his plate carefully. The beef couldn't touch the mash; the broccoli mustn't brush the carrots. He offered his son the gravy boat, only to receive a vehement, "No, thank you." It was what he expected, but he still didn't understand. It seemed so unhobbit-like.

The boy looked at the dish of peas with longing, but Drogo knew they'd be refused too. Prim rose at last and fetched a mug from the cupboard. She filled it with peas and handed it to Frodo, who accepted it with a grinning, "Thank you," before sipping his 'drink'.

_S.R. 1380_

So his parents were dead, and that was that. He was stowed away in a little hole at the Hall and felt himself disappearing, bit by bit. At first it was frightening, and then it was infuriating.

Food made him ill. Six meals a day, and he would sneak all his food to his young cousins; if they couldn't finish it he would stuff his pockets and sleeves, dropping it all down the privy later on. Sometimes he hoarded food under his bed and tortured himself with the smell. He watched his belly turn outside-in and savoured the sucking emptiness.

_S.R. 1388_

Two hopeful faces peeped around the kitchen door, and Cook smiled at the sight. "The potatoes are ready for you, lads. I hope your hands are clean."

The little master shoved past his older cousin with a giggle, and she handed him the masher. Frodo crept up behind him and picked him up with an exaggerated groan. "You're as big as an oliphaunt, Mer," he said, and Merry trumpeted raucously before attacking the potatoes with glee.

"Look at the worms, Frodo. They're _disgusting_!" The potatoes squeezed through the holes, forming fat, creamy tentacles, which Merry stuffed between Frodo's obliging lips.

_S.R. 1390_

It was a while before Bilbo had Frodo's finicky ways figured out.

The crumpets, for instance. They had to be toasted just so: crunchy on top, soft inside and burnt around the edges. Yet he didn't mind a touch of mould. "Just scrape it off. It's nothing." The butter had to be completely melted; if the crumpets cooled before the butter soaked in, then out the window they went as soon as Bilbo's back was turned, and the lad would smile and say, "Delicious."

The rules were sometimes inexplicable but he'd always enjoyed a challenge, and he loved his lad.

_S.R. 1399_

What was a summer picnic without watermelon? Frodo cut a thick slice for Pippin and another for himself, and they munched happily until pink juice dribbled down their chins. Pippin (the little piglet) finished in a flash, gulping down flesh and seeds alike until he brandished his rind in triumph. Frodo took his time, letting the fruit dissolve in his mouth and tucking the seeds under his tongue. Once he had a full arsenal, he let loose a barrage of wet pellets at Pip, who shrieked with laughter, threw his rind at Frodo and cried, "I smite thee, foul beast!"

_S.R. 1408_

Celery was a menace to grow, so Sam was right proud of this lot. He took some into the kitchen and had the satisfaction of watching Mr. Frodo crunch his teeth into a stalk and pull lovely long strips off it.

Two days later Sam found Mr. Frodo at the kitchen table, taking a stalk of his good celery from a glass of reddish water. The leaves were fringed in scarlet, and when Mr. Frodo cut the stem you could see tiny spots where the ink had risen. Sam sighed; he could've told Mr. Frodo how thirsty celery could get.

_S.R. 1413_

Merry and Pippin rarely arrived at Bag End empty-handed, and this time they brought a sack of chestnuts still in their spiny burrs. The three cousins sat around the kitchen table shucking the nuts, then threw them onto the hotplate to hiss and gurgle. When the shells were charred, they let them cool a little before cracking them open. Merry and Pippin chewed with relish, but Frodo bit into a bad one, brown and rotten, which he spat into his hand. They tried to coax him into trying another, but he refused. "More for us," said Pip, but Merry frowned.

_S.R. 1419_

They were camped upon a strange rock formation in Hollin; to the east, the Misty Mountains loomed like slavering teeth. Sam crouched over his fire and poked amongst the sausages until he found three that looked just right. He popped them into a bowl, trying not to let them touch the mash. Mr. Frodo paid no mind to such things nowadays, so Sam paid for him. He handed the bowl to his master, who thanked him with a smile before returning his attention to his cousins' antics. Sam hovered anxiously, but Mr. Frodo left the food in his lap, untouched.

_S.R. 1421_

Rosie sat gingerly on the edge of Mr. Frodo's bed with a steaming bowl of broth propped against her swollen belly. She took up a spoonful and blew on it before bringing it to his cracked lips. Most of it went in, and she caught the dribbles that didn't. He swallowed with visible effort. "Don't tell Sam," he said. She shook her head and gave him another spoonful, and another. In a half-hour it would all be out the other end and there would be another mound of laundry to do, but she kept trying to fill his empty spaces.


End file.
